


Like a Crow in a Grainfield

by misura



Category: A Song For Arbonne - Guy Gavriel Kay
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-01
Updated: 2007-10-01
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:06:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1625846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the year that Alain of Rousset received an invitation to Carenzu, Urté de Miraval killed two singers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Crow in a Grainfield

**Author's Note:**

> Written for MsSolo

 

 

In the year that Alain of Rousset received an invitation to Carenzu while visiting his family, all of whom stood gaping as he was escorted away by a group of crimson-clad guards that gave him the uncomfortable feeling he was leaving less as a guest and more as a prisoner, Urté de Miraval killed two singers who had the misfortune of choosing the wrong song to sing while passing through his lands.

The two singers, as it happened, were drunk (the stories that went all over Arbonne in less than a week agreed on that much, at least) and thus quite possibly unaware of the presence of the duke and his guards. Had the duke elected to merely order them thrown out the inn, or forcibly removed off his lands, it was unlikely anyone would have taken notice. It was hardly a secret that the duke de Miraval had little appreciation to spare for either music or musicians, and accordingly, few joglars and troubadours chose to travel through the lands of Miraval if they could help it.

Killing them, however, went too far (everyone agreed on that, too, even those who might otherwise e found grumbling about singers and their lack of respect for hard-working citizens). No matter what the song might have been (because that, alas, was the one thing nobody seemed to know for sure, although speculation was rife), one did not go about killing a man for a song. Not in civilized Arbonne, at any rate. In Gorhaut, perhaps - but not in Arbonne, as the duke de Miraval would no doubt find out soon enough, when the countess heard of this outrage.

The countess, to the surprise of many, did nothing. There were no stern messages sent from Barbentain, no soldiers sent to prove to everyone that no one was above the law. Instead, there merely was silence. It was inexplicable, impossible, and yet this was what had happened: the duke de Miraval had killed two men, and while all the country knew of it, nothing was done about it.

Even Bertran de Talair, who might be expected to speak out against such injustice, remained quietly in Talair, and where otherwise, a song about the wrongs in Miraval might soon be heard in the taverns of Talair, this time, there was not even that.

And so, eventually, the stories died down, replaced by the latest news from Gorhaut, until years later, during an Autumn Fair in Lussan, Bertran de Talair would speak of the matter after all, in terms so general that nothing was added to the story as it had been.

To Alain of Rousset, it must be said, this mattered little. He shared the outrage of his fellow-musicians, sure, but he hadn't personally known any of the persons involved, nor did any of those he spoke to. The two men who had died in Miraval that year were nameless, their song, whatever it had been, lost.

Certainly, Alain never imagined that there might be any connection between the two events. Why should he, when he'd never had dealings with the duke de Miraval, and was unlikely to ever have any, given that he was a troubadour from Rousset?

He was, as it happened, wrong, but only partially. There was, indeed, no direct connection between the invitation of a promising young troubadour to the castle of Carenzu and the killing of two drunken singers in dreary Miraval.

There was, however, a connection between what was happening in Carenzu and what had happened in Miraval.

*

Ariane de Carenzu knows herself not to be a woman overly gifted with the virtue called 'patience'. It is, perhaps, a failing in her - if it is, it's one that's balanced, and amply so, by her husband who is, if more than capable of taking swift decisions when needed, also capable of a patience that is beyond Ariane.

The letter lying on the table in between them bears witness to that, if nothing else.

She's read it - of course she has, when it's been addressed to her, delivered by someone wearing the Miraval colours, whose horse seemed more dead than alive. Hard as the messenger may have ridden though, he has not outrun the rumors of what has taken place in Miraval. This is the third reason why Ariane has unfolded the letter sent to her by the duke de Miraval the moment it was pressed into her hands, barely pausing to examine the authenticity of the seal.

If the seal had not convinced her, the letter itself would have done so. Nobody but Urté would dare write such a letter as the one in front of her, not to the duchess of Carenzu, the queen of the Court of Love. Some subjects are unfit to entrust to paper. Some subjects are unfit, even, to be openly spoken of, or even covertly, in private. Among friends, perhaps, but Ariane makes no claim to the friendship of the duke de Miraval, and she knows it as well as he does. Aelis stands between them, if nothing else.

The letter merely adds to that, or perhaps it drives home to her just how great the distance is between her and Urté. She doesn't think he intended for his letter to offend her - shock her, maybe, move her to some sort of action, certainly, but not offend her, she doesn't think. Urté has nothing to gain by turning her into his enemy, and regardless of what else he might be, Urté is not a fool.

"You seem less than pleased." An understatement, that, if ever she's heard one.

"Read it." She gestures at the letter, too angry for words to explain.

"With your permission, my lady." The letter isn't barely more than a note - it doesn't take Thierry too long to read it, and read it once more, Ariane notes, with grim satisfaction. "He's certainly blunt," Thierry murmurs, at last.

'Blunt' is not the word Ariane would have chosen. 'Crude', perhaps. 'Offensive', definitely.

"How dare he!" Ariane feels angrier than she has felt in years. A part of her - a small part - is aware that perhaps, this is because Urté is right, in a way. "Implying he killed those two men out of any concern for _my_ honor - as if he has any right to judge!" In Gorhaut, Ariane knows, it would have been Thierry's honor that would have been insulted by her failure to give him an heir - women are mere cattle there, considered to be fit only for breeding.

"I don't believe he quite meant to imply that much." Thierry reaches for the letter again, doubtlessly intending to quote some portion of it, to analyze the structure Urté de Miraval has used to inform Ariane that she owes it to Arbonne to seduce her own husband and make him get her with child.

Feeling petty, Ariane snatches the letter away. She won't tear it up; she's not that far gone. Besides, she'll need to compose a reply, to inform the duke de Miraval in no uncertain terms that the next time he feels like slaughtering a pair of helpless drunks, he'll have to do so in his own name, rather than hers. Songs are not silenced by killing the singers; Urté should know that. Not, Ariane suspects, that the drunken brawling of a pair of young louts who hardly know what they're talking about can be described by such a word - it would be an insult to any joglar and troubadour of Arbonne. Which, given that this is Urté, means little, Ariane reflects wryly.

*

Alain knew himself to be a fairly skilled troubadour. Perhaps, that kind of modesty ill-fitted a young troubadour, especially one who'd received an invitation to a ducal castle already, but Alain prefered to be realistic - he knew how to write songs, yes, but there was so much more to music than a simple mixing of all the required ingredients.

In time, he felt sure, he'd improve. In time, he'd thought, he might be invited to play for the duke and duchess of Carenzu - and so, when the invitation had come, several years before he'd expected it, and at a moment when he was alone, without a joglar, he'd been too surprised to do anything but nod and let himself be taken along. Only when he'd arrived at Carenzu had it occured to him that he might request for word to be sent to Aurelian, who'd been his joglar that season.

By that time, of course, it had been too late. Aurelian would be halfway to Lussan, and (or so Alain was given to understand) his presence was required for merely a single night. Under other circumstances, given what he knew about the duke of Carenzu, that information might have given Alain a reason to feel slightly offended, hinting as it did on the idea that he'd been invited, not for his skills as a troubadour but for other, less elevated reasons. Then again, given thought, that notion seemed utterly ridiculous - even harder to believe than that his reputation had grown more this past season than he'd realized. As a result, when he'd been escorted to meet his host, he'd mostly been curious.

That sense of curiosity, of wondering at what the duke and duchess of Carenzu might possibly want with a mere young fledgling-troubadour of Rousset, was still with Alain when he left the next morning, the night spent in a comfortable bed, all his own. He'd spoken to the duchess, true - he'd sung her some of his own songs, forced by necessity and not minding too much, given his audience.

Nothing had been said to explain the invitation though.

 _"It might,"_ the duchess had said, _"be nice if there were more songs fit to be sung by female joglars, don't you think? I've been told of a very promising young lady from Vezet - Lisseut, I believe her name was. Have you ever given thought to writing a song specifically for a female voice?"_

Alain had agreed - he'd have been hard-pressed not to agree with anything said by the lady of Carenzu, and he had to admit, remembering her words later, that she had a point. Traditionally, love-songs were always sung from a male to a female - a few might leave the gender of the loved one in doubt, but not many. After all, most joglars and troubadours were male, and prefered their lovers female.

To write a song to a male lover would be to break an age-old tradition - unless the song was sung by a woman. Such a song would be unusual, true, but not too much. Normally, Alain would have named Elissa the better female joglar - although her temper made her a far less agreeable prospective travel-companion than Lisseut - but if Ariane de Carenzu had named Lisseut, who was he to disagree?

Aurelain had already agreed to tour with him again the coming season - Alain would be able to work on the song, then, and hopefully enhance his reputation enough to be able to get away with a slightly less traditional song.

If he played his cards right, he might find himself invited to Carenzu once more, for a longer while than a single night, perhaps, and with a joglar accompanying him.

 


End file.
